


I Feel The Earth Move

by culticmyexecution



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M, Mostly Fluff, slow burn? if you could call it that, they just love each other and travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-04-08 06:35:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19101688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/culticmyexecution/pseuds/culticmyexecution
Summary: ‘Nevermind, forget it,’ Aziraphale was abashed. ‘Change the topic. What are you going to do now?’‘I don’t know. Any suggestions?’‘Travelling?’Crowley had pondered it for a few second, humming, and then answered with a light smile, ‘Why not? I’ve never thought about it since, like, sixth century.’





	1. Long Time No See

Crowley used to be sure that he had enjoyed the twentieth century best. He was easily reassured by the twenty-first. Though he was not really fond of modern fashion, it still was better than the way people used to dress in the 1980s; and the number of ways people could get themselves into trouble and commit sins grew enormously which was to say the least useful. Crowley used the whole set of possibilities to bring thousands of people closer to Hell, step by step, and it's worth mentioning that he was quite successful. He added about a hundred of the souls, while other demons were still busy with those bishops and politicians. And then, he could add a few more without a hitch. Some people became victims of his affairs quite many times, got mad about it and so on, which helped the process. Many of them eventually died, spoiled, evil, and polluted, and the Authorities even gave Crowley a mild commendation. However, he was not glad about it. He didn't like even the slightest move of the scales between Good and Evil, and believed that his actions could be compared with jumping on one scale in aim to move it, which was more of a suicide. They Downstairs gave him no actual choice. Everyone who struggled was punished, they told him. He knew that well. He also knew that the punishment wouldn't be anything like a fifty pounds fine, or a month of community service, or even a year in prison. Crowley would  _ notice _ the punishment. Hell was rather old-school in relation to gathering new souls but really innovative in torturing its own employees.    
  
‘Malthus has been accused of something your-guys-level good, and refused to confess. Well, Thomas of Torquemada would be fucking jealous,’ Crowley once told Aziraphale when they met at St James's Park quite a long time ago, and that was a nice start of a new conversation that took a dozen years more.    
  
However, in August of 2016 Crowley was finally set free — not from his job, of course, but he only had to get a couple of souls per decade, just like it used to be before, just like the other demons did. That mandatory hard work that had last for almost twenty six years was finished.   
  
Even despite his unpleasant obligation, Crowley had rapidly grown fond of the twenty-first century, which, besides all other advantages, made his work rather easy. Collecting the given number of innocent souls would be much, much harder if it wasn't for modern technologies and notorious scientific progress.   
Of course, the taste became more and more terrible as the years passed, but at the same time there were more places to find something of a good taste. Crowley had been successful in that even before the development of the normal Net, and after that it was even less complicated. He could find everything he wanted without any need in imagining it. He was boundless.   
And now, given that kind of a long-term holiday, he was almost free.   
  
Crowley was staring at his half-empty glass of some tequila cocktail when he heard a loud laughter that made him wake from a kind of a trance. He felt weird. He hadn't been drunk for about a year, and wanted to taste the whole range of the action. Five cocktails, and he felt rather dizzy, and didn't intend to sober up. He was humble even about an upcoming hangover. It was just a body, after all.   
  
He turned his head and looked at the laughing person. A group of teenagers stood nearby the stereo system which was for some reason unplugged, and enjoyed some twaddle.    
  
‘Damn hipsters,’ Crowley thought. ‘Such a distaste. And Aziraphale would perfectly merge in with his coat, especially if he wore some big ugly spectacles…’   
  
Crowley sighed and was about to start staring at his glass again when he heard a familiar voice, ‘Long time no see, my dear.’   
  
‘Oh hi. I've just been thinking abou' that ri-…’ he hiccuped, ‘where's your ridiculous coat?’   
  
‘Glad to see you, too,’ Aziraphale sat nearby, smiling, his curly fair hair scraped back into a ponytail.   
  
‘And your hair,’ Crowley, his eyes wide, stared at Aziraphale with some weirdly surprised expression, ‘what've you done?’   
  
‘Er. Nothing. Let them grow a bit longer, that's all. Okay, not a bit but quite much. And it's too warm for wearing a coat but all of it doesn't matter right now. How have you been?’   
  
‘Heavenly terrible,’ he shivered, his shoulder jerking as if there was a chill running down his spine.   
  
‘What happened?’ Aziraphale ignored the epithet, kind, and faintly smiling, as always, and actually worrying.    
  
‘Some… hard work. They thought I was a workaholic and took me. Didn' ask. An order, y'know. Now it's done.’   
  
‘Oh. So that is why you disappeared like that then.’   
  
‘Yep.’   
  
‘I see. Err. Something bothers you, am I right? Because, you know… you look rather sad, even though, as I can see, your work is done.’   
  
Crowley hadn't answered for half a minute, so Aziraphale put his palm on the demon's shoulder, making him shudder again. Crowley took his glass to make a sip.   
  
‘Like… everything's not okay. Everything's quite bad, and I can be the… Goddamn Hell!’ his hand flinched and let the glass fall down, the drink spilling. He hissed and kicked the bar table with his toe, shaking the angel's hand off.   
  
‘Okay, stand up, we're leaving. And sober up, please, it's too complicated to get through even when you're as drunk as right now, not to mention other cases. I do not want you to drink a drop more.’   
  
Then there was another burst of laughter, and Crowley frowned and made a barely noticeable movement. The plug became snake-ish, the stereo turned on and the ‘damn hipsters’ were covered with extra loud good old rhythms of Roger Taylor's drums.   
  
‘Ah, Crowley!’ Aziraphale took Crowley by the elbow and made him stand up. He had to speak louder, almost to shout, for Crowley set the stereo upon the growing volume. ‘Stop it, please. And let's get out of here.’   
  
‘Alright, alright, y'pain in the asssss,’ the demon obeyed and let Aziraphale withdraw him, not imagining the stereo plugging out.   
  
‘So, what's wrong?’   
  
Crowley slumped on a bench, hiding his face in his hands for a few seconds and moaning.   
  
‘They made me gather the inn'cents. Punished for all the shit I've done from misssplacing the Antichrissst… shit…’ he swallowed and tried to control his tongue, ‘to, well, killin' other demons.’   
  
‘You did  _ what _ ?’   
  
Crowley nodded and looked at Aziraphale who still was standing.   
  
‘Ligur, Hastur, holy water, stuff like that. I should've mentioned that.’   
  
‘I believe you haven't. Okay, I see. But I don't understand why it bothers you that much.’   
  
‘Beeeecause I'm moving the scalessss, ain't I?’   
  
The angel frowned and thought a dozen seconds.   
  
‘Maybe you really do. I'm not sure, dear boy, but still, don't be that worried. If something happens, Adam can handle it. He won’t let another World End take place.’   
  
‘Yeah, he can jus' erase me. That's a nice way to get rid of the problem. Just to get rid of the cause of it.’   
  
‘Tsk, that’s not what I’m talking about! Please, Crowley, sober up. You're just unbearable.’   
  
‘Shut up, angel,’ he tilted his head. ‘I was gonna get so drunk it'd be a shame, and you interrupted. You always interrupt… oh, sometimes it helps a lot, no offence. I don' wanna be sober now, y'know. I won't.’   
  
‘But I believe,’ Aziraphale crossed his hands, ‘that you still can explain. Please?’   
  
Crowley sighed.   
  
‘Well, a month after the,’ he gestured, ‘Adam stuff, and after I'd finally stopped getting drunk over and over again with you — you should remember that — I was… er, informed about the 'new obligation' that they'd prepared for me. Spent a month, y'see? Turned on their fantasy. How sweet of 'em.’   
  
‘And you had to do  _ your actual job _ , right?’   
  
‘Uh, yes, kinda. I just had to do _ that  _ stuff. Their main reason was that, as I'm so modern and so on, and others're not, I'd be a nice example for 'em. Like, you talk too much, Crowley, put your money where your mouth is. They just teased me. Douchebags. D-don't make a face like that, I know what you're gonna say! Yes, that's my job. But I've never had to do that much. I've done a hundred times more than any of them for that period. Than most of them ever! They made me hate what I used to like doing. And don’t you dare look at me like this! You can’t judge me for hating my labour  'cause y'know what? You get just as little pleasure of your job as I do of mine, don't pretend, you  _ angel _ .’   
  
‘Are you trying to insult me by calling me the name I do actually have?’ he decided not to pay attention to Crowley's other words. There was no use arguing with the drunk demon, it would be better to calm him down a bit.   
  
‘Being an angel's an insult already, y'know. Okay, okay, sorry, I know, I used to be one. This doesn't matter at all. What matters is that I'm in a place that I can only compare with the fourteenth century.’   
  
‘Aren't you exaggerating?’   
  
‘Not at all. I donnow why but I feel just as terrible as I did then.’   
  
‘Err. This feeling must be just a consequence of your work. Or is it about the century? I do not think you consider the twenty-first dull, to be honest.’   
  
‘Yeah, this millennium's quite nice, at least the first sixteen years of it, but there's some kind of… ugh, I donnow, a threat? Some dark cloud above me. I don't feel okay.’   
  
‘And you tried to relax.’   
  
Aziraphale finally sat, close enough for his shoulder to touch Crowley's, and sighed. Crowley swallowed loudly, feeling nervous because of such an unexpected move of the angel. The sudden and absolutely unnecessary kind of intimacy made him shudder and wish to say not a word anymore.   
  
‘And I tried to relax,’ Crowley nodded, closed his eyes and concentrated for a dozen seconds. Then he looked at Aziraphale. ‘I'm clear now, there's no reason to be drunk anymore. Are you satisfied? You seemed rather worried.’   
  
‘Yes, if you say so. Oh, another question. Are you, um, free now? I mean, do they ask you to do anything besides your usual obligations?’   
  
‘They don't, I think they just want to forget me like a bad dream now. I used to be a good employee but that Adam case and its consequences… Well, I failed. Screwed up. They don't trust me anymore. I hope they won't need me to do anything _ special _ 'cause I know they will make it a punishment and will not trust me the slightest bit. But I believe they won't.’   
  
‘This is… rather good?’ said the angel with a questioning tone.   
  
‘I don't know. You can't second-guess what they intend to do when you've never been in such situation.’   
  
‘Alright… Er. If something happens, I'll try to help you,’ he didn't see Crowley's face twitching, for he was staring at his shoes' toe caps. ‘If I don't get a direct order to do the opposite, of course. In such case I simply won't be able to.’   
  
‘Uh… Okay. Thank you.’

Crowley didn't really get why Aziraphale said that but he suddenly felt much better. A warm feeling of peace washed over him.

‘Oh, dear, where are your glasses?’

‘Lost them. Was about to create new ones but someone said, “wow, cool lenses!” and I was like, okay, thanks. One more reason to love this century.’

Aziraphale looked mindfully in Crowley’s eyes. 

‘What?’

‘You don’t like them, do you?’

‘Eh?’

‘Your eyes. Wouldn’t you like to get rid of their look?’

‘I-I don’t know. I haven’t thought about that for quite a long time...’

‘So you  _ have  _ thought about that?’

‘I see no purpose of this conversation,’ Crowley was puzzled. ‘Is there any dramatic difference between me feeling simply inconvenient because of my eyes and me not liking my eyes?’

‘Err. Sorry. I just wanted to say you don't need to. They're… they're nice.’

‘Uh huh...’

‘Nevermind, forget it,’ Aziraphale was abashed. ‘Change the topic. What are you going to do now?’

‘I don’t know. Any suggestions?’

‘Travelling?’

Crowley had pondered it for a few second, humming, and then answered with a light smile, ‘Why not? I’ve never thought about it since, like, sixth century.’

‘You were busy with work. And so was I.’

‘And now?’

‘For those twenty four years, I haven’t been really engaged, only have done some… insignificant stuff. I think the Authorities don’t trust me anything more important because of… You know, dear boy. You’re in the same situation.’

‘Alright, but… why travelling? There’re many, mm, hobbies and so on.’

‘It is the easiest way to relax and escape routine. New experience. And in process you can find another hobby in addition to… err. You must have one...’

‘Gardening.’

‘Yes, gardening.’

‘Alright. Where do we start?’

‘This isn't a thing I've actually thought over.’

‘We can go anywhere, you know. I’d prefer something warm and more or less remote.’

‘Right. I have an idea then.’


	2. Malta Pt.1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was genuinely surprised by what Aziraphale had said. He had no idea how to turn the conversation — Aziraphale did it for him. So he, indeed, was occupied by thoughts for the same reason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am glad that I've resumed this work after so many years of writing nothing in it, yay!

Outside the plane everything was sandy yellow. Aziraphale, despite his past complainings on how Crowley spent the oh-so-precious time on slumber, was fast asleep in his chair. His long curls were loose and messy, close to covering his face from this world. Crowley found himself staring at the angel, and after a few more seconds turned away with a huff.

They were about to land.

Someone was talking behind them about how the place they were going to was a 'shithole'. Crowley frowned and miracled the bottle of one of them to fall, spilling water on their pants. The irritated cry made him smile snake-like.

The plane finally touched the ground softly, and Crowley stretched his hands. He liked travelling — from what he could remember. After the sixth century, all his trips were related to work, and now he finally was able to choose a place and a time period he would spend there, again. And he was not alone, which just added to the pleasure.

‘Hey, wake up,’ he poked at Aziraphale’s ribs, making the angel shudder and open his eyes in discontent.

‘What on Earth are you doing?’

‘Poking your ribs, as you can see.'

'And why, let me ask you, are you doing this?' Aziraphale rubbed the poked place, and fixed his hair so that it didn't cover half his face.

'Think of it like I’m, hmm, playful today,’ said Crowley, standing up and stepping into the aisle. There were certain benefits of flying in business class, and leaving the plane early was one of them.

‘That won’t end well then,’ Aziraphale, too, stood up and moved towards the aisle elegantly. Crowley offered him a hand, but he refused.

‘Oh come on. That won't end well my ass. You’re not going to spoil my vacation, angel, I won’t let you do that.’

‘I’m not even intended, dear boy,’ he said with a reassuring smile.

‘Hope so.’

When Crowley left the plane, he felt the air as if it was solid. It was so hot, and humid, and almost sticky.

‘Ugh,’ he grumbled, taking his coat off. He liked warmth, but not that much of it.

‘Yes, hot it is,' said Aziraphale, taking his own coat off and hanging it accurately on his arm. 'I believe I will have to find a replacement for these clothes. Even though such heat does not lead to that much discomfort as it does to people, I would like to at least, you know, look normal.'

'No Hawaiian shirts. I beg you.'

'Why, they look nice.'

'They do not. I will choose the clothes for you.'

'Oh, dear boy, that is so nice of you, but I believe I must reje-'

'Oi, shut up. No. Hawaiian. Shirts.'

Aziraphale sighed and entered the airport building. The cold air poured over him, and he sighed again, in relief.

'Thank... well, it's good we can't catch cold,' said Crowley from behind. 'With such temperature difference I'm sure people get sick pretty quickly.'

'Yes, yes. Poor creatures.'

Crowley sniffed.

'So, are we taking a taxi?'

'I thought about renting a car. But I think taxi will give us full experience,' he said nonchalantly. 'I believe there must be ones just outside the airport.'

'They usually deceive the tourists, don't they?'

'It will also be a part of the experience, angel.'

Aziraphale looked at him with a puzzled expression.

'You have booked the hotel, at least, I believe. Or will it also be a nice experience to be left with no place to spend the nights in?'

'We will spend the nights in Paceville, where else?'

'Wh...where?'

'The district of night clubs, angel, come on. Have you not done any research prior to coming here?'

'Well, as you would say, it is a part of the experience to go unprepared.'

'Okay, your truth. I have booked a hotel, two suites for us with a view on Valletta.'

'That is so nice of you.'

'Leave that behind. No need for keeping up appearances when you're with me.'

There was another puzzled expression on Aziraphale's face. 'I'm not.'

'Uh, alright. I just hope you'll get tired of the courtesies. It's annoying when there's too much of it.'

They left the airport and looked around. Almost immediately Crowley spotted a group of taxi drivers standing not so far away. All of them were eager to take Aziraphale and Crowley to the hotel, so Crowley just chose one of them randomly.

'No luggage?' the driver asked in surprise.

They, indeed, had nothing on them besides Crowley's small bag.

'No luggage, sir,' answered Aziraphale politely.

Crowley rolled his eyes. 'Get in the car, angel.'

'It's just fifteen minutes from here, so don't you worry,' said the driver with a smile. He was not old, but his skin was covered with wrinkles, probably from the hot Mediterranean sun. 'So, you come from England?'

'Yes, we do,' Aziraphale was fond of small talk at the moment, so he sat at the front.

'From London, probably?'

'Ah, you know the accents?'

'A bit,' the driver laughed. Crowley was starting to get annoyed. 'You here for the honeymoon?'

Crowley giggled quietly, annoyance dissolving.

'What?' Aziraphale was abashed. 'No. No, we're not married. Here just for vacation. We would like to see the world, after all these years.'

'Ah, I see. Where do you plan to go next?'

'We haven't decided yet.'

The driver nodded and fell silent for half a minute.

'You good friends, huh? To travel together, people must be good friends.'

'We... are.' said Aziraphale quietly, and Crowley glanced at him with a weird expression on his face. He left sudden warmth in him — as if the warmth around him was not enough.

The rest of the road in the car it was silent, only the driver hummed some song quietly. The radio was off, and for that Crowley was grateful. He would not like the music to interrupt his dramatic looking out of the window and pondering on what Aziraphale had said. For some reason, it was important to him, to hear, 'Yes, we are good friends,' said by the angel. He could not put his finger on why exactly the things were the way they were, so he decided, 'I have already lost him once, and that instant I knew he was my best friend, so why all the thinking? Yes, we are good friends.'

After a few more minutes the car came to a halt. The driver asked quite an adequate price for his services, so Crowley paid him for that. Of course, it would be no problem to just miracle him into driving away, but for abashing Aziraphale, Crowley was ready to pay.

'Weren't you, as you said, playful before? You look gloomy.'

'Pfft, gloomy, How do you even choose words?'

Aziraphale shook his head and turned back to look at the hotel.

'It is... pretty.'

'Yeah,' said Crowley and walked towards the entrance.

Like almost any other building on Malta, this one was built of sandstone, or at least looked like it. To the entrance there lead concrete stairs, not really chic or anything, and Crowley could feel how Aziraphale's face twisted.

'Don't worry, angel, it looks better inside.'

'I do hope so.'

'You don't think I would choose a bad hotel for us?'

Aziraphale did not answer.

It did look better inside. The hall was vast, with the black and white marble floor, with the chairs and tables spread across it in a pattern. The hall was decorated with lots of flower pots, and Crowley felt the spirits of the plants shudder when he entered the building. The furniture was nice, the music was not annoying, and Aziraphale relaxed, making Crowley smile a bit.

'You've gone native even more than I did, with your love to posh things.'

'I don't like posh. I just like comfort.'

'Sure.'

The girl on reception was so sweet Crowley could feel the tiny sugar bits materialising on his tongue.

Things annoyed him, he noticed. At first the taxi driver — before that honeymoon line — and now the poor girl that was just doing her job. So he decided to have some fun to distract himself.

'So, do we go to the suites for a while, or do we go directly to Sliema for some shopping?'

'It's so hot I prefer the second option. Ah, it's a shame we let the driver go.'

'Let's ride the buses.'

'Am I hearing it from you? You hate public transport.'

'I want to have an adventure, angel. Let's go by bus and buy some cheap shit we won't get attached to.'

'I'm not sure.'

'Ughh, you bore,' Crowley reached out, grabbed Aziraphale's hand and dragged him to the exit. 'Come on, it will be _fun_!'

To their luck, there was a direct route from Floriana to Sliema. In the bus it was hot — even hotter than outside, and with each turn Aziraphale almost flew to the opposite side due to how abrupt the turns were, so he had to clench the handhold; once he even dropped his coat. On his face Crowley could read a full spectrum of negative emotions, so much that at one moment he was afraid Aziraphale would join his side, but the bus stopped, the recording said, 'Tas-Sliema,' and Crowley rushed out, holding Aziraphale by his soft hand.

'That was terrible, my boy,' complained Aziraphale, pouting. 'I, at least, hope that there will be vacant seats when we go back.'

'They won't really help you out there. So. What shall we buy? I think of some jeans, shorts and tees.'

'I would prefer some light breeches and shirts, to be honest.'

'You can't always be stuck in 1950s. Let's try something new. You'll like tees.'

Aziraphale's face showed full confuse. 'I... I...'

'You have no argument against me. Let's go.'

They went to some cheap shop, for Crowley did not want to spend much money on clothing they would not need anymore after the vacation. He was planning on just leaving them in the hotel.

He bought light grey jeans, grey shorts, and a few tees for himself, and shorts and light blue jeans, and a couple shirts and a Queen T-shirt for Aziraphale. He just could not miss a chance to mock the angel.

'So, how does it feel?' he asked Aziraphale, who was in his Queen tee and jeans.

'It feels... weird. Alien.'

'Alien,' Crowley burst out laughing. 'You are indeed into strange choice of words.'

'Well, it feels soft,' he touched the tissue of the tee. 'I think... I think I like it. I believe it won't be bad if I thank you.'

'You'd better not,' Crowley smiled widely at him. 'Would you like something to eat?'

Now there was a smile on Aziraphale's face, too.

 

They took a bus to St Paul's Bay to find a fancy restaurant — one just could not make the angel set foot anywhere else. After a long lunch, Aziraphale wanted to return to the hotel, but Crowley insisted on an extension of their shopping. He bought two hats, sunglasses for Aziraphale, a bottle of sunscreen, an instant camera and a few boxes of sheets for it.

'Why do you need all that? We can't get sunstroke. Or sunburnt. We can just miracle it away.'

'When will you get it? It is about the experience! I want to feel what people feel when they go on vacations. I want to lay down in the sun on the beach, listen to some music on my iPod, and give no shits in the world. And I want you to do it with me, as you were the one who suggested travelling.'

'I thought it would be more... regular.'

'There is no fun in regular. For how long have we not travelled for ourselves? Personally, my last trip was in sixth century. I even repeat myself.'

'Well, I...' he pondered. 'France, 1793.'

'Ah, yeah, that crepes stuff.'

'Yes. So what fun would it be if you just went here in your suit, went to a restaurant and a bookshop, watched some movie probably, and came back? And, of course, did some good magic on the way. Nevermind. I have booked the hotel for two weeks. We have a lot to do!'

'Two weeks... That is much.'

'And that's only here. We will have to think of where to go next.'

'That... is starting to sound like fun, you know.'

'Yes!' exclaimed Crowley, almost ready to throw a victorious fist up in the air. Thanks to something in him, he could restrain himself. 'Come on, angel, I just want to show you that fun is not only what you have considered it to be for hell knows how many years. Fun is in little things, like, take this camera. Won't it be fun to look at these photos later?'

'Something is terribly wrong with you. Where have you took my demon?'

'I hope you're joking. It's just that I have spent too much time on hard working. So now I'm relaxing hard.'

'I was half joking, indeed,' Aziraphale smiled. Crowley smiled back.

'Thank you for clarification.'

'So where are we going now?'

'I have nothing planned for tonight, so we can just walk until the evening and then return to the hotel.'

'Sounds nice.'

'The sea is not so far away, so we don't need a bus.'

'Oh thank heavens.'

They went down the road, slowly and not hurrying anywhere. There was no need for words now; they just enjoyed the company of each other. At some moment Crowley looked at Aziraphale, saw the Queen T-shirt again, and giggled.

'What's wrong? Anything on my T-shirt?'

'No, no, everything is fine. I'm just in an extremely good mood today.'

Aziraphale looked at him with suspicion.

'There is a square not so far,' said Crowley to change the topic, 'let's go there to take a photo?'

'Alright. But I still don't see much use of these photos.'

'You'll see a few years later, believe me.'

They went to the Bugibba Square and took a few photos with Crowley's camera. He could not restrict himself from making a dumb one where Aziraphale was holding the camera facing them, and Crowley was behind him, making horns with his fingers above Aziraphale's head.

'Ah, a smoothie shop.'

'You want some?'

'I don't know. I've never tried one. But I want to.'

'You're becoming more hipster than vintage, you know. I'll have to keep an eye for you. Come on, choose the fruits.'

He bought Aziraphale a smoothie — and was glad when the angel liked one.

'What's a hipster?'

'Uh, long to explain... You won't even know the music genres they listen to. It is a subculture that pretends to be vintage. Or something like it. They like smoothies.'

Aziraphale looked at him.

'Leave the smoothies alone. They're nice.'

'And healthy.'

'Yes. So nice you understand.'

Crowley wanted to answer but decided not to ruin the agreement they had come to.

They walked down the Bugibba embankment, Aziraphale sucking at his smoothie and Crowley listening to music on his iPod, one earphone in. He was glad that what happened to cassettes had no effect on players, and he had to listen to something besides the best of Queen.

'What are you listening to?'

'You won't like.'

He was expecting a 'Bebop' as the answer, but the angel surprised him.

'May I?' he reached for the second earphone. The same moment, 'The Bad Moon Rising' started to play. Crowley did not interfere.

They walked like that, connected with the earphones, until the song finished, and then all Aziraphale said was, 'Nice.'

Whether he really liked the song or was just polite did not matter, for he did not take the earphone out and continued walking like that. Crowley couldn't describe what he felt, but he definitely liked it. He felt somewhat closer to Aziraphale, with the angel liking his music — which he apparently did, otherwise he would put the earphone away.

If one were to ask what that evening was like, Crowley would be about to say it was romantic. Sharing the music felt intimate for him, as if letting someone into your home. So intimate, in fact, that when Aziraphale by accident stepped away too far and the earphone fell off his ear, Crowley felt the world flushing into his — their — personal space.

'Alright, that's enough modern music for now.'

'It's not that modern, you know.'

'I liked it anyway. Honestly.'

If Crowley was human, he would blush. Thankfully, he could control that.

'Then let's listen to music together more often.'

'I even grew fond of your car cassettes.'

'Great. You have that band's logo on your tee.'

'So that's why you were laughing,' Aziraphale said strictly, crossing arms.

'You mad at me?'

'No, dear boy, of course not,' he said, letting his hand into his long hair and brushing it with his fingers.

In the sunset light he looked beautiful, Crowley caught himself thinking.

_'What on Earth are you thinking about?'_

He shook his head to shake the thought away.

 

When it became dark, they took the bus back to Floriana. With all the shopping bags, they were lucky to find the bus almost empty.

In a shop they bought some wine — just the most expensive one.

'They're all British, so we won't really like them,' said Aziraphale. 'They feel like water.'

'As you say, angel,' Crowley could not get rid of the thoughts.

It was not that they only came to him at that moment. He felt them before. _'He looks beautiful,'_ was not an entirely new thought for him. It had occurred to him before that he adored the way the angel looked like. Especially now, with this hair long and curly and fair. And without his _stupid_ coat and _shirt_ and a _goddamn_ bowtie. T-shirt really suited him. Crowley even felt a bit sorry that he would abandon the clothes here and return to his usual attire — unless a brick would fall on his head and he would decide to keep that Queen tee.

'Crowley, dear?' Aziraphale asked when the demon had blacked out for too long. 'You okay?'

'Ah? Yeah, I'm alright. Just a bit thoughtful.'

'Then let's go drink and forget all that thoughts.'

'You old alcoholic.'

'It's just that your thoughts seem to concern you.'

'They do.'

 _'You have not committed that mistake. You have not,'_ he was trying to persuade himself. However, one thought led to the other, and with a simple, _'He is beautiful,'_ came a whole new ravel of ideas and feelings.

And drinking was not helping.

'So... about where we go next?'

'It's too early, angel.'

'But you do want to book a nice hotel? It's better to do that in advance.'

'Hmm. You're right. USA?'

'Never appealed to me.'

'Yeah me neither.'

'Have you ever been to Russia?'

'Only in 1917 and for a couple of days.'

'A lot changed there.'

'Well... I'll consider that idea. Thanks, angel.'

'Not at all.'

The wine was not nice, just like the angel had said, but now Crowley did not care with what to get drunk. He just wanted the thoughts to go away.

_'This is ridiculous. You are ridiculous.'_

Aziraphale sat in a chair, his feet neatly together, holding a glass in one hand and resting the elbow of the second one on an armrest, touching his lips with his fingers, thinking about something. He frowned at one moment, and Crowley could not hold his tongue, 'Anything wrong?'

'This wine is... atrocious.'

'It is,' he was glad to have a safe theme of discussion. 'We'll have to go to France. Definitely. After Russia or whatever.'

'Yes. Yes,' he said, the second time more thoughtfully.

There was something occupying his mind, obviously. So Crowley decided to walk away, if they both were just busy with thoughts.

'Well, I'm... I'd better go.'

'What? Ah. Yes. Of course. Take the biscuits with you, you haven't eaten today.'

'Thanks... and goodnight,' Crowley stood up, bottle in one hand and the pack of the biscuits in the other, and two more bottles pressed against his chest.

Aziraphale did not answer and ignored him walking away.

 

'This is all just because for sixteen years you haven't seen a face that is nice to you. Be honest with yourself. What else can it be? You're not capable of human feelings. You just cannot...' Crowley whispered, lying on the bed with wine in his hand and holding the biscuits to his chest. 'This is all just because for sixteen years the world treated you like shit and now you find your friend again. Don't be ridiculous. Yes. You cannot...'

It hurt somewhere in his chest, and that pain made him squint and want to drink all the wine in the world just to forget himself. He had two more bottles. Two and a half, if you want to be precise.

After he finished the bottle that had already been opened, he sat up and opened the pack of biscuits.

'It's been six thousand years. Of course you care for him. Of course, after seeing his face for so long, you consider it beautiful. There is nothing weird about it. Nothing.'

The wine indeed was atrocious, but Crowley was not going to stop himself. He was not going to sober up, neither.

'You're a demon. Care not he's an angel. You just can't feel that sort of things. You were not created for it. It's just an illusion. What if you wanted to reach your hand and take his... It's nothing. Or maybe your body's too old and is going insane. Yes! That's all the body's fault, probably.'

He felt so helpless he wanted to cry. He did not understand fully what was happening inside his head, and that sent a sense of dread over him. As if you're in a dark room, and you feel _something_ is there, but you have no idea what it is and if it's dangerous or not.

'Maybe I should just, well, discorporate myself? Paperwork, yes, but maybe it'll help. No, it's dumb.'

With one bottle left, he suddenly felt very lonely. He opened the last bottle and drank from the neck, just like the previous two. With no one around, he cared not for how he looked.

'Well, what if yes, what if something there went wrong and you are able to love, what will you do? Confess to him? That will be a shitshow.'

Crowley stood up, wambling, and went to Aziraphale's suite. He knocked ever so lightly, hoping the angel would not hear him, but 'Yes?' as an answer sent crawls down his spine. He opened the door.

'It's me. Sorry for being so late.'

'It's okay,' Aziraphale seemed fine now, with two bottles standing near his feet and a glass in his hand.

'There's something I want to talk about.'

An expression that Crowley could not decipher ran across his face.

'Yes?'

'Um,' he suddenly felt very awkward. 'I felt today that... err... maybe we've become much closer than we were?'

'What are you leading to?'

'I can't explain,' he shrugged.

Aziraphale sighed. 'Come sit.' Crowley obeyed.

'So what is it about? Please don't tell me it is about love.'

'Why? Can't I be in love?'

Aziraphale sent him a weird look.

'You cannot. Neither can I, Crowley.'

Crowley cringed, his eyebrows curved like in pain and his fingers slightly, almost imperceptibly touched Aziraphale's wrist.

'This is what we've been told,' he said bitterly, 'since, like, the beginning. No gender, no actual feelings, nothing like love or hatred, only actions and orders. Only that damn 'Ineffable' stuff. And no one even thinks that love is just as ineffable as the main idea of Good and Bad. Only people do.'

'Please, Crowley,' Aziraphale frowned and looked away, Crowley's look being too heavy to bear. His wrist was still in Crowley's hand. 'Even if you are capable of it, I cannot confess even to myself of anything like love which is not for everything. However, I do not mean physical ability by this 'can'. I must not pick anyone out and feel anything besides that 'love' from the code. And you are technically my enemy. I… can't.'

He spoke calmly but in the end his voice slightly disrupted and shivered, showing Crowley how actually difficult it was for him to speak and also giving him hell of an innuendo.

'So I'm…'

'Crowley, please. There is no reason.'

'We could…'

'We cannot be happy, my dear boy. At all. Not together, not separated, there is no way.'

'Why do you talk about capability which is not physical? About some obligatory… Nobody gives a fuck, you know, about what we're doing here. Mine never cared about me and yours showed that they don't care, too. They don't want to have anything in common with us now. I was punished for Antichrist misplacing, and you were for helping me, that's all, now they want to forget us. The only people that care about us is, well, us!'

'This won't end well,' was Aziraphale's last chance to persuade himself and Crowley at the same time.

'Oh, damn, we survived the Armageddon! What am I going to lose, by the way…' he took a deep breath. 'I do feel something close to love, acknowledge it like that if you are so very against the term 'love' being used independently.'

Hopeless blue eyes of Aziraphale met Crowley's.

'This is such a fail…'

'As if you haven't been halfway fallen already.'

'More than halfway now,' Aziraphale smiled sadly and closed his eyes.

'Listen,' Crowley moved towards him. 'I do care about you, you know that. All our time here — on Earth — you cared about me also. I can see you feel something. You were occupied with something today, too.'

'I should resist it, Crowley.'

'Why, Aziraphale? Who cares? You think Gabriel gives a fuck?'

Aziraphale's face twitched in pain. Suddenly he moved his free hand and put in on Crowley's cheek. 'Listen. You are... the light of my life. Without you, I don't know what my life would have been like. I don't know if I would still be alive, to be honest. I...' he bit his lip, 'Crowley, I cannot say that directly. Something in me prevents me from it. But you're right. I do.'

'Oh.' Crowley felt a heavy burden fall off his heart. 'Oh. I... have not thought it through so far, to be honest.'

'Go to sleep for now. We both have to think. I will see you tomorrow morning. I'm not going anywhere, if you're afraid of that. I promise,' he took his hand away, and Crowley felt cold where it had been.

'Okay. Okay, angel,' he stood up obediently and left the room, saying nothing.

He was genuinely surprised by what Aziraphale had said. He had no idea how to turn the conversation — Aziraphale did it for him. So he, indeed, was occupied by thoughts for the same reason.

He had to think — but for that he had the morning. Now he just wanted to fall asleep, which he did, in his clothes, not unmaking the bed, leaving the unfinished bottle on the end table.

 


	3. Malta Pt.2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'I see. And what do people say about love in their books? I know they're all different, but for example?'
> 
> 'Uh, well. Great is the joy of love, but the suffering is so great that it is better not to love at all.'

Crowley woke up from headache, barely able to open his eyes. His head felt split in two, and there was a weird taste in his mouth. The same moment he stirred, he moaned, remembering what had happened the day before. He saw the picture as if from afar; as if it was some other Crowley but not him. He did not behave like himself, and the wine did not any add good to it. Those years he spent alone made him change, and not to the best side, he thought.

He moved his hand in the air and turned the aircon on. It was time to return to his normal self. But what would he do with what he had told Aziraphale? He felt there was no coming back.

Finally, he had time to think about it.

Six thousand years, now that's a long time. One has no choice but to grow fond of the face that's been around for so long. And Crowley also gave in. For him, Aziraphale was a best friend, had been one for quite a period. But he realized that there had been something more about it; there was something behind in his mind that told him, 'You love that bastard of an angel, and you do so not like someone loves their friend, you've rotten from the inside with a wish to be able to take his hand and never let go.'

He wished to be hungover, in fact, but his body did not know such a word no matter how close to human it was. The headache and the taste came from somewhere else. It wouldn't be a problem to just miracle it away, but the guilt in his heart made him put up with it. He thought he deserved it, for potentially ruining the six-thousand-year long friendship.

He saw many times how it happened to humans — in movies mostly, but even though it was not a very reliable source of information, it was the only one he had access to. The books also existed, but he did not read books. The most frequent problem of people was not speaking to each other honestly. Apparently that knowledge was the reason he was so headlong in confessing his feelings to Aziraphale.

He tried to think when everything had started, and only understood that the thing had always been in him. Whatever era he thought of, there was this gentle feeling he had towards his friend. It was just too fearful to confess. And now, after his work, he was so tired and so lonely that he made a step. If it was a mistake he could not tell. Maybe it was a bad thing to love an angel, after all.

Crowley made himself a hot bath; he knew he would have to face Aziraphale sooner or later, but he tried to postpone it as much as possible. A bath would help him clear his mind, or so he believed. Lying in the water, he covered his face in his hands and moaned.

'You dumb. You've ruined everything,' he said to himself.

For some reason, his mind ignored what Aziraphale had actually said to him in the end, and concentrated on what was told in the beginning of their conversation. He put his hands in the water and stared at them, mind floating somewhere else.

'Cannot be happy my ass. As if we were not happy until that Adam thing.'

His stare moved to his intimate parts, and he thought of how maybe his body was more human than he thought. Well, it got drunk when he consumed alcohol. He was able to sleep, to eat, to use lavatories. Would it be weird if he was capable of feelings of the mortals? Not really, he thought.

He had to deal with it. To go with the flow. To struggle was not an option; endless suffering he saw in the movies scared him, and there really was no need for it. In the end, Aziraphale would understand.

Crowley took the small shampoo bottle and poured some in his hand. It smelled lavender, so he enjoyed himself washing his hair. To rinse the foam off, he lied deeper in the water, so that only his face showed above the surface. It was so warm and comfortable he wanted to never leave the place. After a few minutes, he sat up again, and heard a knock on the suite door.

'Who the hell is there,' he whispered, stood up, quickly toweled off, and wrapped himself in a light blue bathrobe.

'Yes?' Crowley said after coming to the door.

'It's me,' he heard Aziraphale's voice, and wanted to go down the earth.

He opened the door, and saw the angel in the Queen T-shirt and jeans again, with another pack of biscuits in his hands.

'So, what plans we have for today? May I come in?'

'Of course,' Crowley moved to the side to let Aziraphale in. 'Today I thought we would go to Gozo to see the Blue Grotto. But we have other places to visit, so it's up to you.'

'I heard there is a wine festival somewhere on Malta.'

'Ah, it was in Valletta in July. We're not coming, obviously. Anyways, local wine is crap, so...'

_'What the hell? Are we going to pretend like nothing happened?_

'That's a shame. Maybe they had some French wine there,' said Aziraphale, sitting down in the chair. Crowley took the one nearby.

'For French wine we can go to France, I've already told you,' he shrugged. 'Let's indeed go there after Russia.'

'So you've decided to go there in the end?'

'Yeah, why not.'

_'This is what they tell you in movies. You just pretend nothing happened, and things get worse.'_

'I'm so glad, my dear boy. But I hope we won't go to Paris. I did not like it each time I was there,' Aziraphale shuddered, probably remembering the experience.

'Let's go South, maybe.'

There was a long pause.

'About yesterday,' started Aziraphale, making Crowley widen his eyes in surprise. 'I'm not going to take my words back, but... I don't know what we should do. I haven't slept the night — even though I rarely sleep the night — thinking about it, and haven't found an optimal solution. I just... don't know.'

'Me neither,' said Crowley honestly. 'Why don't we just go with the flow?'

'What do you mean?'

'To give in. To let the feelings be.'

'I'm not sure. What if it's a bad thing to do?'

'Well what if it's a good thing to do?'

'Then, if we give in, one of us suffers.'

'But if we don't, we both will, you know that.'

Aziraphale bit his lip.

'You know I read a lot. Some, in fact many, books I've read were about love. But it differs from country to country, and from author to author.'

'What are you leading to?'

'To the fact that it's impossible to understand what love truly is — even humans can't do it, and they have been dealing with love much better than angels or demons.'

'Aren't angels supposed to love everyone and everything? You've said so yourself.'

'Yes, and no. This love is different from the one people feel. It is an unconditional, absolute love towards every living being. It's like you're born with it. People are not born with love.'

'I see. And what do people say about love in their books? I know they're all different, but for example?'

'Uh, well. Great is the joy of love, but the suffering is so great that it is better not to love at all.'

'Nice one. Very inspiring. Who said that?'

'Dostoyevsky.'

Crowley moaned.

'Come on, you could choose someone more positive.'

'I just believe it to be true. Many other books show the same thing, even when the author tries to persuade the reader that love is full joy. It is not. It does bring suffering upon the lovers. I... don't think you deserve to suffer in such a way. I wouldn't let you.'

'Unrequited love brings much more suffering than mutual does.'

'Your love is not unrequited.'

'But you want to pretend it is.'

Aziraphale looked somewhere to the side and sighed.

'I don't. I won't be able to. I want to stay by your side and protect you, even though I will get in serious trouble if the Heaven knows. You're my best friend, after all.'

'But there is something more to it, or you wouldn't be so agitated.'

'It's just that I...' he fell silent and looked at Crowley again, his eyes showing unrest. 'I felt physical attraction. I've never felt it before, and it was so weird. Alien, I choose this word again.'

'What exactly do you mean by physical attraction?'

'I wanted to take your hand. When we were listening to your music.'

'That's not exactly what people think when they think about physical attraction, angel.'

'You watch too many vulgar movies.'

'And you read too many wet blankets.'

'So we are both not good in terms of love.'

'That's why I offered to go with the flow. Just do what you want. Take my hand if you want to.'

'Isn't it a violation of personal boundaries?'

Crowley reached his hand out. Aziraphale, after a short hesitation, took it. His hand felt warm and soft; when they interlaced their fingers — that was Crowley's move — it felt even warmer somewhere deep down.

'See? It's not as scary.'

Aziraphale smiled. 'Maybe it is not that bad to go with the flow.'

 

In the end, they decided to go to see the blue lagoon on Gozo. The bus ride was a disaster, just like the previous ones. The bus was new, but on the serpentine road it was thrown from side to side, just like the passengers in it.

Crowley was looking in the window, trying to enjoy the monotonous yellow landscapes. Aziraphale nearby him was reading a book he bought on their way to the station. They, again, joined the same music from Crowley's player. This time, it was Hozier. When Crowley first had a chance to discover music on the Internet, and buy it in a moment, and not have it transformed into something else, he decided he would listen to everything. He liked new artists and genres, even rap and electronic music were there on his iPod. As usually, he enjoyed everything contemporary.

'Do you read whatever you see?' asked Crowley after bending down to see the cover of the book.

'Not really. But this is, yes, the first book I saw and took.'

'They're having a movie based on it in September. I think I will go and see it. Do you want to join me?'

'I'm not really fond of modern movies.'

'A week ago you probably weren’t into modern music. And what for you is a 'modern movie'? Anything younger than Metropolis?'

Aziraphale made a face.

'You're exaggerating.'

'Okay, The Sounds of Music.'

'Alright, show me your movie. In September.'

Crowley beamed at him.

'First clothes, then music, now this. You're almost becoming a normal person.'

'When we return from our journey, I believe everything will become the same, my dear boy.'

'Well at least I'll enjoy your company fully.'

Aziraphale looked at him with a sly smile.

'As if you did not before.'

Crowley waved at him, trying to pretend he didn't hear that.

 

The boat trip was more comfortable. The wind was strong, making even the hot Maltese air fresh.

Aziraphale stood in the rear of the boat, elbowing the fence, in his jeans and a white shirt they bought the day before. His long hair was mercilessly blown by the wind front and back, making him frown and constantly fix his hair so that it was not in his face. Crowley at first was in the front side, looking around and this time genuinely enjoying the view; but a few minutes later he joined Aziraphale.

'Looking at the main island?' he asked nonchalantly.

'Yes. It seems so small from here. It is probably smaller than London.'

'Almost five times. And it's even smaller than the city I'm going to take you in Russia.'

'You already planned that? Aren't you too quick?'

'You yourself said that it's better to plan everything in advance.'

'But I've never seen you beside a computer or anything.'

Crowley took his mobile out of the pocket. 'You can do things with the phone now.'

'Incredible,' said Aziraphale, his face showing some form of a delight.

'Technology is nice,' said Crowley before putting the phone away. 'We'll have a nice hotel near a small park. It is in the heart of the city. Five stars, as usual.'

'You're pampering me.'

Crowley laughed. 'You're pampered already, angel. All those posh restaurants and genuine Japanese sushi,' he wanted to continue but found himself staring at Aziraphale again.

'What? Anything on my face?'

'I like it when you smile,' he blurted out. He could swear that Aziraphale blushed. 'It’s true.'

'My, thank you. Or whatever I should say here…'

'Thank you is appropriate. I think.'

With another gust of wind, Aziraphale’s hair hid his face from the world, and, instinctively, Crowley reached his hand out to help him. When he could see the angel’s face again, it looked bewildered.

'This is embarrassing.'

'What is embarrassing about helping you fix your hair? By the way, I like it the way it is now. I don't know why you've decided to grow it long, but I do like it.'

'Will you stop perplexing me?'

'Will you stop being so easily perplexed?'

The time they spoke, Crowley kept his hand guarding Aziraphale's face from his long curly hair. It was so close to the skin of his face, but Crowley did not dare touch it.

 _'Not that fast,'_ he thought.

'Seems like we're arriving,' said Aziraphale, moving away from him.

Gozo looked much like the main island, but had more greenery on it. Crowley, after two days on Malta, came to a conclusion he liked the place despite its heat. For some reason, its sandstone small buildings were pacifying. The natural wish to do evil dissolved in him, making him almost a normal human being — not good or bad, but something in between. Something with a free will.

'No, we're going directly to the lagoon. It's a few more minutes.'

'It's as if you know everything.'

'I'm a professional at resting.'

'Since when?'

'Since yesterday.'

Aziraphale smirked. 'If we are to throw compliments at each other, I love how thoroughly you do everything. Even your evil deeds. You always try so hard.'

Crowley hummed in satisfaction. Then he reached his hand out again for Aziraphale to take it.

'But there are people on the boat.'

'Who cares? They're tourists.'

Aziraphale hesitated. Crowley moved his hand closer.

'But we look like two men.'

'Okay, let me Google that for you...' he took out his phone again. 'See? It's ranked number one in terms of LGBT rights. No one's going to condemn you. Jeez, Aziraphale, sometimes you make joy so difficult for yourself.'

Aziraphale looked ashamed. 'I just want us — you to be safe.'

Crowley sighed. 'I understand. Sorry for bursting out.'

'It's okay,' the angel said quietly, and took Crowley's hand. 'Let's go to the front,' he said, and pulled slightly.

They were approaching the Blue Grotto. It was a huge natural stone arch above the azure water. Aziraphale squeezed Crowley's hand when he saw the view. 'It's beautiful.'

'Yeah.'

'If all the places we go to are as good as this one, this will be my best travel, Crowley.'

'Well, I did try hard to find the best options for us. You'll have a chance to swim in there. They say the water is so nice.'

'I can't swim, and I don't have a swimsuit.'

'Who cares, go in your underwear. It probably looks like shorts,' mocked Crowley.

'It does not. And what? You're going to teach me how to swim?'

'I can just give you that knowledge.'

'But it won't be a full experience.'

Crowley grunted. 'You're learning fast.'

 

They spent a few hours there, Crowley teaching Aziraphale how to swim, with the angel finally giving up and agreeing to get the knowledge directly to his mind. After that they swam together below the arch, saying nothing, with the tourists around them chatting and shouting; but they felt alone; as if there was no one around them. The water felt too nice to be real. At times they would go out the water and sunbathe.

Crowley thought he couldn't be happier.

 

They returned to the hotel in the evening, tired — well, their bodies gave them an illusion of tiredness that could be easily miracled away — but glad and satisfied with how the day was spent. Aziraphale offered wine, but Crowley declined, for to his taste it was too bad and he could not even imagine how bad it was for the angel. After a short talk about the next day, they went to their suites.

However, in the middle of the night, Crowley woke up, and could not fall asleep anymore. He felt too lonely in a big room and in a giant bed. So he got up and went to Aziraphale's room. He, of course, did not sleep. Crowley found him reading in his bed.

'Sorry for disturbance. I just... I don't know. I felt lonely.'

'It's fine, I don't sleep anyway,' Aziraphale closed his book. 'You may come sit.'

Ignoring the chair, Crowley went directly to the bed and sat nearby the angel. 'You seem to be okay about what's happening.'

'Happening?'

'To us, I mean.'

'Ah. Yes. I think I am.'

'I'm glad, I wouldn't want to push you too much.'

'You don't. If you did, I would say.'

'May I... stay here?'

Aziraphale smiled.

'Yes, of course you can.'

Crowley lied down, not bothering with getting under the blanket. His head rested so close to Aziraphale's shoulder he could sense the warmth of his body.

'About what you said today, about me suffering. I'm not suffering at all.'

'I'm glad to hear that. But from what I've read, the suffering comes later. And I'm afraid of that. That if we go too fast, we will come to an end.'

'We've been friends for six thousand years, you think it's so easy to set us apart?'

'You may be right. But still, I am afraid. Let's not go too fast, please.'

'As you wish. I hope that current speed is okay with you.'

As the answer, Aziraphale moved his hand and let his fingers dive into Crowley's dark hair, and stroked it. Crowley closed his eyes and let himself enjoy the feeling until he fell asleep.


End file.
